Tala's Newfound Burdens
by Somewhere I Belong
Summary: The classic tale of heartbreak, dramatic situations, and spandex clad evil villains. Maybe not so classic.
1. Prologue

**Title:** Tala's Newfound Burdens

**Rated:** PG-13

**Warning: Language, Freaky Incidents**

**Summary:**

The cast of Beyblade resides in the Abbey for the summer. After going insane due to the Russian team's loss at the World Championships, Boris goes to Hawaii for emotional support. Ian and Spencer underwent plastic surgery to 'beautify' their looks. Kai finds new interest in American television programs, as well as a stack of Playboy books that somehow mysteriously appeared in his old bedroom/dungeon. Enrique comes onto Tala. Bryan enjoys some KFC fried chicken. Other stuff that should not be mentioned ensues.

**Disclaimer: I do not own Beyblade.**

* * *

**

* * *

_- Prologue -_ **

* * *

The normally undistinguishable sun slowly rose over Moscow's scattered vegetation, finally shedding its golden enigma through the open, uncurtained window of the Abbey, reaching the still closed eyes of a certain slumbering red head lying still under the top bunk of his poor excuse for a bed. Yawning quietly, the figure slowly sat up and played with a flaming lock of red hair dangling just between his half closed eyes.

Ambling through his near empty room, the boy continued to absentmindedly toy with his strand of hair just as he turned the rusted doorknob and pulled open the heavy metal concealment, revealing a cheery face which he unfortunately knew only too well.

"Hiya, Tala!" The light green haired boy locked the very surprised Russian into a suffocating bear hug before attempting to plant a big French smooch on Tala's left cheek. "I LOOOVVEEEE YOOOOUUUUUU!!"

"What th-!" Oliver's victim of over-smelling paint thinner flung him off impulsively after overcoming his evident shock of being held in that loving way by a boy. He then turned to the left and ran directly out of the room and down the hall, a million questions racing through his mind.

"_HUG_ ME TALA!! HUGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!"

The horror of having to listen to the Frenchman's plea of very inappropriate camaraderie gave him the incentive to move faster, just to the point of losing his concentration on which he was headed to and thus led him into an inevitable collision with a tall, muscular being. Unable to absorb the force of bumping into someone whose chest hair was as dry and dandruff filled as Boris' back, Tala stumbled to the corresponding wall, nearly knocked unconscious while his other, bigger resident simply stood there, staring down at him completely unscratched.

"Oh that was just _so_ uncouth!"

Tala watched with growing befuddlement as a pink robe-wearing Robert proceeded calmly down the hall without sparing him a second glance. Speechless, the red head stood up gingerly, eyeing the incredulous presence of the German with widening eyes. He then shook his head after using every fiber in his body to block out the unpleasant image of seeing Robert nearly naked and turned his focus down the hallway once more.

"I am not going crazy...I am not going crazy..." Tala repeated repulsively under his breath. "It's just the after effects of accidentally eating Ian's home-cooked Kenny burgers...nothing else..."

His convincing was cut short when a shrill, high-pitched girl-scream greeted his ultra-sensitive ears. Compelled, Tala picked up the signal and started running towards the sound, descending the nearby crooked stairs and tripping over his own feet.

'Dammit! This is not how –'

Rebuking himself didn't prevent a robust hand from clasping onto his wrist, pulling him up like clean laundry. At first he thought the firm grip could only belong to that chest hair guy whom he bumped into during his escape, but fell agape when he came face-to-face with a sneering girl rather than the he-man he had previously encountered.

"Why hello, Tala."

His captor said benignly, not letting go. She stood a few inches shorter than him, wearing a white t-shirt where the words _'Bush is an idio_t' were embroidered. Immediately Tala recognized the ginger-haired nerd girl.

"You're that American bitch-" Tala pointed with his free hand at the darkening face.

"Just who are you calling a bitch you transvestite!" Emily balled her free hand into a stone hard weapon of mass destruction, directing it towards the head of her hostage.

"Now, now...let's not be pulling at each other's ##$#$."

Both of them turned in unison towards the voice, whereupon they both shared a hard knock on the head. Emily cursed loudly while the interjector, Robert, looked down at them, grinning. Tala managed to retrieve his hand from the savage animal and run away before tension returns, his head already hardened by all the times Boris sucker punched him.

'How did they get here? Why did that bitch call me a transvestite? How dare she mock me! What if she's telling the truth?! Is there really something wrong with the way I look? Maybe it's my up turned nose, my hair – or maybe...oh shit! I _knew _I should've told Voltaire to lay off his drag queen tactics – especially on me!'

After what seemed like hours of tireless running, Tala finally reached Boris' secret living room, the place where he could have sworn the scream came from. He yanked open the transparent door- and was perplexed to find the wooden chairs inside arrayed in 2 perfect rows, upon which seated the behinds of some very familiar yet scary people. He watched as Boris sat perched on a leather armchair, his less than pretty face being viewed openly by his unlucky audience.

"Why Tala! So nice of you to join us." His mentor's voice was strangely high-pitched, too high, almost Mariah-like, as he gestured to an empty seat beside a blond boy called Enrique. Too confused to disobey, the newcomer walked obediently to the chair, all eyes in the room following his every step. Robert entered soon after, still clad in the revealing robe, much to everyone's dismay.

"As I was saying –"

Boris continued his speech and for the first time since he got here, Tala noticed what his teacher of ten years was wearing. A pair of green, spandex tights under an oversized neon-coloured Hawaiian shirt, accessorized with two gold hoop earrings protruding from each earlobe. Just to make sure his vision wasn't severely screwed, Tala rubbed his eyes, but was still presented with Boris' bad fashion sense.

"Am I in the twilight zone?" Tala asked ambivalently. The person sitting next to him grinned feverishly.

"I don't know...do you **want** to?"

Enrique then winked at the terrified boy, growling coyly. Shuddering, Tala turned away abruptly and tried to get engrossed in whatever shit Boris had to say. Bored, he started to study the man's Tyson-inspired outfit, tracing the neon shirt, hoping that the badly girlfriend-deprived Italian would leave him alone. After a second of intricate observing, Tala started pitying himself.

There he was, forced to give a damn about Boris' clothes, no knowledge of what the hell was going on, nearly wetting his pants, seen a German immodestly stripped, all the while sitting next to a male who's probably hitting on him. He had never felt so alone all his life.

"– Therefore, when the BBA comes to pick you up at the end of the summer, you will all be well-rested, well-informed, and mildly drunk." The director- turned-she-male's voice raised several unadjusted octaves as enthusiastic applause spread throughout the vast room.

"**W-what?!** They are going to _stay_ here?!" Tala stood up upon reflex, knocking his chair down with a startling _crash._ All heads turned his way as Robert repeated his famous catchphrase.

"Y-you h-h-have hurt-ed my feelings you bastard!" A tear streaked Gary burst into tears, his back being pat by an embarrassed Lee.

"Well, like, isn't that what _you'd_ do if _you _were facing child molestation charges?" Boris scoffed, running his fingers through his salon-washed purple hair with newfound ease. Silence fell across the room, muting the cheers. Boris stood up looking at them in all his possible glory, desperately thinking of a witty and non-gay comeback.

"Erm...I'm on weed."

Agreeing chatter replaced the speechlessness of the audience, as several 'I knew it's were heard. Boris grinned his scary grin, got out his llama- covered suitcase, and opened the door. Tala's mouth dropped open, from which poured out the words he had once thought not even God could force him to say.

"No! You _**can't**_! Don't abandon me!" He shouted. His cries were not heard as Boris skipped towards the hallway. Knowing that he could never stoop so low as to actually _touch _him, Tala thought desperately for a way to get his mentor back.

"Bryan!" He flung a finger towards Bryan, who had a surprised expression on his face, along with a KFC fried chicken stuck in his mouth. "I _command _you to stop Boris!"

Bryan looked taken back by that remark, his teeth ripping off the chicken flesh dangerously.

"Just because I'm emotionless doesn't mean I don't have dignity too!" The pale boy screamed, taking his Canadian-delivered bucket of KFC away from public view. He then sat on the floor, crossed his legs, folded his arms, and refused to move.

"Tala you idiot! Now you've shattered the spirits of two already mentally impaired people!" Mariah exclaimed and threw an encyclopedia at the red head, missing his arm by an inch. Tala was too lost to bitch slap her. The time has come, he thought. I must surrender my status and seek help from..._Dr. Phil._

Sitting back on his chair, Tala buried his face in his arms sadly as Emily's belly dancing de-graced the air.

Once again Boris had succeeded in making his life worse than Hell.

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	2. Chap I

**Title:** Tala's Newfound Burdens

**Rated:** R for language and the below

**Warning:** Language, Freaky Incidents, Indications to the British Monarchy, Fragments of Dr. Phil Advice

**Summary: **_(See prologue)_

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Beyblade, Victoria's Secret, or the president of the United States.

* * *

**Chapter I-**

**Dining Room Conspiracies**

* * *

Inside the secluded hallways not a sound was heard except for the obscured noise of someone forcefully dialing a phone and cursing in rage as he tripped over his own feet for the second time in a row.

Holding a stolen wireless cell phone disturbingly coated in sugar pink, Tala quietly tiptoed into Voltaire's old office (now a broom closet) and shut the door with a soft _click._ After several minutes of waiting patiently and putting the finishing touches on his hair, he finally received a dial tone. A monotone female voice greeted his ears, instructing him to state the USA country code. Baffled with a lack of understanding, Tala randomly pressed a series of keys and waited again. His face immediately lit up as he felt a connection.

"Hello, Dr. Phil?" Tala lowered his voice to just below a mild whisper and listened as someone crunching potao chips grunted, finally wiping his mouth with the bag.

_'What th- how ya'll get my home number?'_ The disgrunted voice at the other end demanded in a heavy Texas accent.

"Your number was posted on my mentor Boris Balkov's bulletin board."

Silence as scratching noises were heard coming from the other person.

_'Sounds reasonable. You're lucky I gave out my number to that psyco. He needed some serious help. God, did you SEE what he was wearing! In my day, those things were illegal!' _

More silence.

Apparently Dr. Phil didn't know that all this time Tala had been trying to shove all memory of ever seeing what Boris was wearing on that day out of his head.

_'Before we begin, how old are you? Is this a long distance call?'_

"15. I'm calling from Russia, sir."

_'So let me get this straight. You're paying for this call, right?'_

"I'm sure Bell Long Distance charged it to Robert Jurgen's account."

_'Sound reasonable.'_ More crunching noises. _'What are your problems, little boy?'_

"I have just one problem, sir." Tala said, successfully restraining from calling the man a bald eagle for addressing him as a 'little boy'. He was **NOT** a little boy. In fact, he was a **MAN**. Not just _any _man, but a good-looking, intelligent, don't-take-shit-from-nobody kind of man. **No** Russian should be mocked. Oh the absolute rudeness!

"I live in a gigantic abbey and these very annoying people moved in recently. I really, really hate them and I'm sure they will make my life more miserable than it already is. Also, an American girl called me a trans, which really hu -"

_'Let me cut in, if I may. You stated beforehand that you had just one problem But now, you see, you just stated **two** problems." _

Huh? Just what was this guy getting at?

"T-that's not the point, sir. I ha-"

_'Are you in denial?'_

"Yes - I mean no!" Tala suddenly regreted his decision to reach in his moment of crisis.

_'I've met may cases like you,' _Dr. Phil continued, the scratching noises reaching to their highest peak, much to Tala's dismay. _'The first step is admitting you have a problem - ' _

"Sir! It's _them_ who I have a problem wi-"

_'Let's not go pointing any fingers. Admit **YOU **have a problem!'_

"What! I don't -"

_'Your condition is worse than I previously thought! You are in the highes level of denial! **Confront your problem!'**_

"No, its them-"

**'_ - Confrontation is the key!'_**

Tala screamed in frustration and slammed down the cell phone on the nearest cardboard box.

Suddenly someone tapped lightly on his shoulder, causing him to lightly jump. Spinning around upon reflex, he caught a glimpse of a half-shadowed Enrique, who had a gleam of morbid innocence in his azure blue eyes.

"Lookin' good today, Tala." The blond Italian mused, winking in a rather demented way, giving his grimacing victim the forbidden gesture of apparent gayness. Before any inappropriate contact was attempted, Tala grabbed the door handle and weasled outside, dropping Robert's feminized celluar device in the process. He made it out just as an irritating cell phone tone commenced. Tala turned around out of morbid curiosity but was greeted with the unpleasant sight of Enrique interpretive dancing...

_'...His girlfriend must've dumped him **real bad...**'_

Taking careful steps as to not trip over his feet for an untimely third time, the red head unceremoniously slid down the stairway handles, crashing head on with an equally unceremonious stairway-slider.

"Why hello..._Kai_."

Tala presumed as he wiped some dirt off his behind. The impact had sent them both flying towards the corresponding walls, knocking the entwined scarf off of Kai's neck. The other boy looked at his white-clad enemy through narrowing eyes, gritting his coleslaw infected teeth.

"..Tala." Kai said casually. Without a word he stood up and started wiping his behind that was covered in dirt with equal verocity. Tala seemed obviously pissed at his antagonist's attempt to out-wipe him and he began to wipe faster, much to Kai's befuddlement.

_'Why that little girl bastard...how dare he think he can out do me...'_

Severely irritated, the face-painted boy started working harder, until they both became an insult to the art of butt-wiping. Their actions did not cease even when a very bored Ray and Lee descended from the stairs, their apathy immediently diminishing. Silently, they stood at the center of the stairway, looking at what appeared to be two cross-dressers spanking themselves.

"I think we should be going now..." Lee stated, eyes still glued on two unerving Russians.

"...yeah." Agreed a cringing Ray.

"Let's just back away slowly then pick up speed while screaming our heads off."

"...yeah."

So the two Asians backed away slowly then picked up speed while screaming their heads off. Meanwhile, in the abbey's medieval-like kitchen, Tyson was getting restless as his Springtime fresh toenails just refused to dry.

"It takes time, Tyson..." Max mumbled, a hint of why-don't-you-just-throw-your-self-off-a-freaking-cliff-you-damn-toe-nail-painting-sissy-pants in his usually cheerful voice. The American had lost his faithful bunny toy Mr. Winky Binky the night before, and was maturely depressed because of it. Unfortunately for him the secured jam jar he was picking at refused to budge as his efforts to open it were not recognized.

"Oh you're one to say... at least you had that stupid bunny to play with! I'm stuck here painting my nails with Mariah's nail polish - "

"**ARRRGHHHHH! JUST SHUT UP TYSON!** Don't you _dare_ call him a stupid bunny! I don't want to hear your ugly voice anymore!" Max screamed, taking up the trend of Emily's PMS-ing.

"I know my voice is ugly but did you have to make fun of it!" Tyson shot back, his tone quivering dangerously to that of a slapped three year old girl.

**"I THOUGHT I TOLD YOU TO SHUT THE FUCK UP!"** With a blinding surge of pure strength, Max tugged open his mortal enemy (the jar) and accidentally dropped it on the floor, its glass contents shattering upon impact. For a few seconds the two BladeBreakers stood unmoving, eyeing the mass of red jam in its state of oblivion. As sudden as it happened, Max bent down on the floor, threw Tyson out the nearest window, and relived a scene from some 1980 Oscar Winning movie flick.

**"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"**

His screams remained intact even after several painful minutes, when a fear stricken Bryan slid towards him from the stair way handle, a tenancy which all Russians possessed after witnessing Boris' unmasked face.

"What happened!" The pale, unusually affable Demolition Boy asked, viewing an emotionally deranged Max with strange sympathy.

"...The jam - i-it's **GONE**!" Max wailed, poking at the red substance with convulsing hands, too distraught to notice Bryan's out of place behaviour.

"There will be other jams, Max." A white hand was placed on his shoulder in a gentle yet masculine way.

"W-where do they go...when they are so prematurely killed...?"

"They go to jam heaven, where all the goodness of jams of all kinds will be fulfilled."

"B-but it was...**STRAWBERRY FLAVORED**!" Soon unnessacary tears flowed freely from a winkled up red face, tears in honor of an old stuffed animal and outdated food preserver.

"..W-why are you even doing this?" Max sniffled, finally realizing the hand on his body. That did not sound right.

"Heh. Your people introduced me to this delightful yet flatulent-stimulating oil-baked food of the gods." Bryan held up a larege bucket of KFC chicken wings in the air as a sign of his reverence, going against every rule in the official _'Evil-dude-trying-to-take-over-the-world-because-mother-kicked-you-out-of-the-basement_" handbook.

Max blinked simotaneously. "Erm, that's a _Candian_ bucket of KFC. I'm American."

Bryan looked like he was about to barf.

"The inhumanity!"

The hand was removed and drawn back in defence as Bryan picked up his deep fried poultry and headed for the outside stairway, leaving Max alone to weep for his loss.

o.O

**Much Later.. .**

O.o

Tala sat on a nice, _clean_ seat, made sure it was very far from Enrique, and glared at the person corresponding him.

Three hours ago they had hastily picked names out of Spencer's old Broadway hat (don't ask) to determine who would be forced to prepare dinner. Though it was not of Oliver's nature to decline slaying for countless hours inside a cockroach-infested cooking area involving the wrestling of a ravenous animal who probably has rabbies, the frenchman had been angry at Kai and Tala for starting their butt-wiping competition without him, and has now stubbornly refused to cook for them.

After what seemed like a day's waiting, Emily, the oh-so-lucky-**NOT** contestant vying for the taste buds of some rather unfortunate critics emerged from the badly furnished kitchen, bearing food and a smell that could have been bottled and sold as an offensive weapon. Immidentely upon her tramatizing arrival groans and green faces greeted her, covering their noses in a futile attempt to shoo her off. Emily ignored their protests and proceeded to position the 'food' onto the long, wooden table.

Tala looked at what was infront of him. Some sort of brownish substance, armed with a scent that could have killed off an entire army. A fried frog leg was poking out from under the bilious mass, still wriggling if he wasn't mistaken. For the first time in his life Tala wished he had Boris' cooking on his plate. No such luck as the ginger haired American pushed the plate towards him encouragingly.

"Do you seriously expect me to eat this _garbage_?"

Oops.

Wrong words.

The nerd girl's face started turning beet red, and gleamed with an ominous glow more evil than before if it were ever possible. Tala eased towards the window behind him. But before she could have slapped him or even worse forced him to read George Bush's bio, Enrique threw a plate at Emily's head, giving her a brain freeze (again don't ask).

Tala eased even more towards the window as the most probably deranged Italian closed in on him.

"I can't take this guilt anymore! I have a confession to make!" Enrique screamed, accidently (...or _is _it?) kicking Mariah on the face. Armed with newfound bravado, the blond boy managed to hurl himself up to the dinning table. He then turned to Kai, who sat silently at the corner of the table, though under that emotionless face lied a boy who really needed to use the bathroom.

"Kai... I am sorry but I never thought Hilary Duff was cool."

There was sudden tension in the air, as a shriek could be heard shattering the unlucky windows, this time done by something _other_ than Boris' face.

**"YOU TAKE THAT BACK!"** Kai screamed, his eyes suddenly flaring as he jumped from his seat with a triple back flip that could have won gold at the Olympics.

Enrique took a step back towards the fallen Emily and tried to sound most apologetic.

"I'm really sorry..."

Voltaire's grandson, fuming, chair-deprived, and serverely stripped of his reputation as the classic cold, anti-social mature guy, prepared to launch an ardent case of the I-am-going-to-kick-your-ass-you-fucktard on the person who dared manage to insult his idol of so many years (Boris what _did _you _do_ to him?)

"Hilary... is the best thing that happened to me ever since Mariah started taking anti-menstration pills!"

Kai screeched, held back from attempted murder by Gary's colossal grasp. Beside him Lee patted his back (doesn't he seem to be patting _everyone's_ back these days?) , obviously bonded together with their love for an eight year old girl's pop idol.

"Yeah Enrique! Hilary Duff is the best! I am her number one fan -"

"**NOOO!**" Kai threw the Chinese boy off of him and sucker-slapped a face that cried out for shaving cream and a good razor.

**"NO ONE LOVES HILARY MORE THAN I DO! DIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!"**

Nearly in tears, he started acting more aggressive, if you call replacing your fighting fists with a girl's hand bag (for the third fricking time, don't ask) aggressive.

Perturbed by the sudden twist of events, Ray, who sat at the far corner of the room, looked up from his special edition of _Victoria's Secret_.

"I have a confession to make too!"

He turned to Tala, who had his face buried in his arms once more to avoid further embarrassment.

"This is ... the mostawesome house I've ever been too! This is so much cooler then the time I stayed over at Queen Elizabeth's palace!"

Mariah gasped, dropping Enrique whom she had secured in a firm headlock.

"Gasp! You CHEATED ON ME!"

... . Now why does she sound so_ surprised_?

"Of course not!"

Raytried to run away before the full effects of the female's corruption were unleashed, but whensomeone'shairy armpit is blocking your only escape route one tends to think otherwise.

"Admit the truth Ray... or I'll show you this very _recent _photograph of Kenny in a swimsuit!"

"**GOD NOOO! Now you've gone too far!" **

With impeccable timing, Tala, wreathed in an early mid-life crisis, or maybe just very irritated at the fact that someone had even _dared _to bring in a photo of _Kenny_ to the dinning room table, reluctantly came to Ray's defense and tried pry the picture from the Asian's now ex-girlfriend's hands.

oO

Oo

Tala awoke in the doom and gloom of a stuffy room, his eyes slowly adjusting to the blackness. The back of his head was trobbing. So dark was this room that when he opened his eyes he felt as if he was looking into the pits of Hell. Or Balkov's bathroom.

Pullling back a strand of hair which dangled pitifully about his eyes, the estranged Russian opened his mouth to utter the most sensible thing on his mind, and what was _usually_ on his mind during all the years he had lived in the Abbey.

"What the fuck?"

Someone (or rather, some group of people who were all on crack) had locked him in a pitch black broom closet. Or maybe it was when he tried to part Mariah from her eye-damaging weapon did his plan backfire. Judging from the reddened mark of a slap he recieved on his left cheek, and the aroma of cheap perfume dangling around his clothes did he realize what had really happened.

_'That bitchy Chinese girl... she'll be the first person I'll have the pleasure of killing when I get out of this place...'_

Thinking of his revenge brought a long awaited smirk onto his face. Torturing a pink-haired female feline will be fun. At least now he'll find some use of the super glue and grey wig he stole from Voltaire so many nights ago.

But she can't be the only one to get a taste of his mentor's unorthodox nature. No, she couldn't be the _only _one who was involved in the conspiracy of trashing him in his own home. Why in Tala-logic, because his weight was raised due to the various cyborgnetic implants he's recieved, Mariah couldn't have been the _only_ one who tried to get rid of him by carrying him into this room.

"I'll get rid of you... and make you pay for ever touching me." Tala vowed out loud, making no comment as to how wrong that sounded.

Something poked his back.

Something.. . pointy.

Then, to his aghasting horror he realized that it was not just _any _broom closet, but the same place where his mentor kept his collection of female bathing products.

"Muahhh! Meish gotish company, yesh?"

The strands of his hair suddenly stood on end. Warm breathing was literally cycling through the dense air, and with intense realization Tala realized that he was not alone in the darkness. He had been so wrapped up in revenge that he had not yet detected the strong aroma of KFC swarming through the room. But Tala recognized that voice.

Slowly he turned around.

...It just **CAN'T** be him...

But it was.

_Bryan._

A fried chicken wing was gripped forcefully in his right hand, and a very scary smile was plastered over the part where his once impassive scowl should have been. Tala glared at the other prisoner, wondering if it really was the same emotionless, phlegmatic teammate he had known half his life. Coming to the conclusion that Boris's drugs _must _have been worn off by now, something the lavender-haired boy was consuming caught his eye.

"Don't tell me you got high eating KFC ... "

_Damn_ Canadians and their overly delicious fatty food acids.

Bryan said nothing, but continued to grin at him.

* * *


	3. Chap II

**Title:** Tala's Newfound Burdens

**Rated:** R

**Warning:** Language, Freaky Incidents, possible visual disorientation caused by some old guy wearing a Hawaiian shirt WITH orange Capri pants.

**Summary:** (See Prologue)

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Beyblade, the KFC corporation, or your sanity.

* * *

**Chapter II- **

**The hostage, the dilemma, and the man who seriously needs a new wardrobe**

* * *

Three hours.

Three hours, twenty-five minutes. Three hours, twenty-five minutes and counting. Three hours, twenty-six minutes. Three hours, twenty-six minutes and cou-

**"BRYAN GET YOUR CHICKEN-INFESTED HAND AWAY FROM MY FACE!"**

Even in the blinding darkness, the nefarious red head managed to redeem his chicken-loathing dignity by slapping the crap out of his snoring comrad's face while simotaneously knocking an innocent chicken wing bystander to the cobwebbed floor. The other boy barely managed to defend himself as Tala started whacking him with a broom stick in a futile attempt to make him sober. Bryan murmured some few unintelligible words before reaching for his trusty sidekick the fried poultry (Sorry Tala but you've just got reh-jec-ted) and sticking it back into his mouth.

His hapless captain flinched just as the drunken grin appeared on Bryan's face again.

"I CAN'T TAKE THIS ANYMORE! We've been in here for _four_ fucking hours! Who _knows_ what kind of shit those idiots outside (especially_ Kai)_ is brewing?" Tala exploded, grabbing his roommate's furry shirt collar. The pallor boy looked up at him with sheepish eyes.

"Aw, wittle Tala you is afraid of them?" Bryan asked, grinning sheepishly.

"... _What _did you just call me?"

There it was again. That irritating buzzing noise, swarming around in his head. He was **NOT** a little boy. This is the _second_ time someone doubted his manhood. First Dr. Phil and now the ex-most ruthless member of his team. Tala forced himself to wait for the boy to finish his rather incorrect sentence, surpassing much rage.

"Hehhh... mee thinks you is beauwtiful..."

"o.O!"

"Tala... you are beautiful..."

"O.O!"

"Lalalalalala... "

With that last piece of unwanted information, Tala let go of his teammate's collar and determined that Bryan was offically insane. With newfound bravado, he started feeling the walls for a possible trap door, something, _anything _that will help him regain his sanity and leave this Hell. A hard thing bumped against his arm, just as he was debating on whether to hang himself or hire someone with fingers to shoot him.

"Finally!"

He did not bother to hide his excitement as he tugged on the hard thing with both hands. Strange. The thing did not move. It felt... leathery. Because there was no artificial light in the room, he found it impossible to fully make out the shape of the object. So he poked it. Poke. Poke. Poke. Po- huh? It was warm. Almost like a...

Tala jumped back in complete and utter Oh-My-God-I've-Just-Skinned-My-Knee-And-Here-Comes-The-Lemon-Scented-Rubbing-Alcohol-Horror. Several grunts came from the object, grunts which possessed an uncanny similarity to Voltaire's humping sounds (long story). Backing up further against the wall, Tala noticed that it didn't just have a similarity to Voltaire, but that it_ was_ Voltaire.

"...S-sir? How did you get here...?"

As the man struggled unsuccessfully to stand up, Tala thanked the gods that the lights were still off.

"I...don't know." Voltaire exclaimed, in a matter-of-fact way.

From the feel of things Voltaire must have been sleepwalking. So Tala simply comtenplated that Voltaire drank too much white wine and started dreaming about being the Pink Ranger again. God knows he will need a HELL of alot Asprins by the time this week is over.

Bursting with unanswered questions, Tala cringed when he felt Bryan's hot breathing circling behind his neck and moved away, as far as possible when you're trapped in a dark ten square inch closet. Finding a suitable place, Tala crossed his legs and huddled in a corner.

"_Damn_ you Mariah!"

The belittled boy uttered vehemently, banging his fists on the walls for emphasis. If it weren't for her he wouldn't be trapped here. Why _did _he _have_ to pry the photo out of her hands? Why? Why? WHY!

"Get your groove on girl!"

Tala looked up, temporaily distracted. Apparently Boris wasn't the only one who went insane after Russia's loss...

"Pardon me sir, but what _have _you been smoking?" Tala asked upon impulse, rubbing his eyes to make sure his vision wasn't serverly screwed.

There was an awkward pause as faint shifting sounds were detected by his ears. The old guy infront of him seemed very pissed at his question, but stopped shouting American dance catchphrases altogether. Grumbling in irritation, Tala spoke again, this time with a different approach.

"What happened to you man? You used to be cool."

"I'm still cool!" Voltaire screamed corruptedly.

Tala shook his head.

"No way man, you've _changed_."

**"NOOOOOOOOOOOOO! YOU LIE!"**

"Scream all you like, sir, but that isn't gonna get your mojo back."

"But some home style coffee sure will!" Voltaire exclaimed triumphly, waving a distorted middle finger at his pupil's provoked face.

Tala sighed and bowed his head. Dammit, he'll have to surrender yet again.

"Fine. I'll get your coffee. But when I get back you'll have to promise me to get rid of the impudent intruders, so I'll be sane once more. Deal?"

"...no."

"Listen, _sir - " _Tala retorted rather rudely, using emphasis on 'sir' to hint out what would happen if things didn't go his way, " - I've already sacrificed 24 hours of a Boris-free zone just to be put up with another one of your pathetic ruses and I'm not gonna waste my time again just because Bryan is high, you have tenure, some weird guy is stalking me, and the abbey is filled with things worse than Kai (if there is any). So, if you don't agree to my requirements, I will be left no choice but to use the Force."

Reaching down into his pocket, the Demolition Boy pulled out a small eBay keychain (one of the many given to him for being the 2nd most powerful Beyblader in the world) and lashed it out, revealing a full sized, luminous, 24 inch Star Wars Lightsaber that gave off a creepy lime auora, immediantly dispeling the darkness.

"Gawk! The light! It burns!" Voltaire screamed, backing away and shielding his face against the pitiful green glow whose light was equivilent to that of a leaf. "I AGREE! YES! DAMMIT YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!"

Meanwhile, some twenty meters away...

Johnny finally made it to the abbey gates, right after his horse-drawn carriage got thrown off course temporaily by a spontaneous hurrican the author put in this story for no reason. Yawning after a most troublesome journey, he did not ever get so far as into the front yard before Voltaire's screams echoed throughout his ears. And if there was one thing very true about Johnny, it was that he most certaintly _hated_ a man whose scream resembled that of a constipated woman.

His eyes turned to slits.

He swalled his Dentyne Ice gum.

He gelled his hair.

His nostrills OPENED.

"That _so_ did not sound right..."

----

Armed with enough spit on his face to last a lifetime, Tala curtly backed away from Voltaire's presence and felt somewhat satisfied at what he had just accomplished, saliva-covered or not. All he'll need to do now is go find a Tim Hortens place in the middle of Russia, hitchhike a random cab, go back to Moscow, the intruders will be gone, and everything will be back to normal. Booyeh!

Basking in a more happy mood, Tala smirked haughtedly and started picking at the doorknob again, approaching it in a more different way. Using little force, the door came open just as the light outside revealed something he had overlooked for a long time. Apparently he failed to see the _'Please Push_' sign engraved in Bold Italics dangling just beside the doorknob...

----

**Later in the day...**

Max was tired.

Tired, hungry and possibly wearing a bra.

Evidently, his first days staying at the abbey was disasterous. He thought back three hours ago, when he was untimely forced to play the part of 'Juliet' in one of Robert's overly exaggerated Shakesparian plays in exchange for a beef jerky (Emily's food was literally inedible. Besides, she kept poking at the frog, as if to see, indeed, she had succeeded in murdering them) did not lighten his mood. So just as a spur-of-the-moment pleasanterie, he decided to walk along the abbey's very fun hallway, in hopes of being reunited with his bunny toy Mr. Winky Binky once more.

"Man, this BBA inspecting trip reeks."

Sighing to himself, the blond American briefly scratched his nose before crawling up the second flight of stairs. The walls corresponding him were grey and dull, with Ikea coat racks everywhere (finally, the mystery of why Boris and Voltaire only wear coats is revealed/**Readers rolls eyes**). The sound of fierce wind blowing outside the cracked walls sent shivers down his spine, for not only did it remind him of Tyson passing gas, but also reminded him that he was not in the U.S. bounderies anymore. Needless to say, he was feeling mighty homesick.

Loud rock music, faint yet close, suddenly throbbed in his ears. So, doing what any sensible teenager would do when the sounds of Nirvana erupted from the middle nowhere, he decided to followed it. Soon he came towards a baronial metal door, the first of ten rooms lining along the thrid floor wall. Max paused just as he placed a finger on the metalic doorknob. His conscience emerged. Remember what they taught you in kindergarten class, Maxie. It is_ wrong_ to take things that doesn't belong to you. It is _wrong _to tell lies. It is also most definately _very very very very wrong_ to explore a room with unappealing signs such as 'KEEP OUT' and 'ENTER AND YOU WILL BE FORCED TO EAT BRUSSEL SPROUTS' plastered over it. Such acts of definace may lead to - Ah to Hell with it all!

Casually, he opened the door, using much force.

A large, open room greeted his bleary eyes.

The spacious yet uninviting interior seemed to have been rearranged, and the chrome furniture inside seemed oddly out of place. Kai, Mariah, Enrique and Emily were dispatched inside this newly decorated room, doing some very peculiar things. Enrique was playing the role of Luke Skywalker while Emily huddled in a corner, rocking back and forth in paranoia. Mariah as always was reading some outdated English fashion magazine. Kai was just standing there just standing there just standing there just standing there just standing there just standing there just standing there just standing there. A black boombox was positioned near the cracked windowstill, where several hard rock CDs were displayed beside.

Another. Boring. Room.

Max was on the verge of a mental breakdown, this time caused by something other than the sugar packs he stole from MacDonalds.

"Why do you mock me, God!" He shrieked, as if his voice alone will provide an asylum from the boredom.

Suddenly, a sound came from … ABOVE!

Everyone looked … ABOVE!

Something dropped from ... ABOVE!

I just typed the word ... ABOVE!

"Egads! He has answered my lonely prayers!"

Everyone looked as some humanoid figure dropped from the badly patched ceiling and onto the floor. There was a slight hiatus of three minutes before anyone could make out the new arrival's shape.

"No offence... but I always thought God was male...?" Max said uncertaintely.

The figure immediantely sprang back to life, or better yet, charged at him with alarming agility.

"I _AM_ MALE YOU BASTARD! " A bedraggled Johnny screamed, tackling at his blond friend's neck and shaking him by the throat.

"Let go of me! I was only judging by _chest size_!" Max coughed, struggling against Johnny's robust grasp. The Scottish boy did not stop whacking him.

"You idiot! Now you've given me an even bigger reason to strangle you!"

"Arghh!" Max finally overcomed the odds and head-bumped the boy on top of him. Johnny glared at his American antagonist with bloodshot eyes. Then, with his right hand, he wiped some blood from under his victimized nose.

"You faggot." Max said, sneering and backing away.

His hot head enemy looked back at him, only this time, with _watery_ eyes.

"Shut up, just shut up... you had me at hello!" Johnny cried and secured Max in such a passionate hug that it could give any sensible witness the shivers to this day.

Emily, Mariah and Kai shuddered and walked out of the room.

----

**Back to the Oh-so-exciting chronicles of carrot head and kid-who-still-wears-a-furry-coat-even-though-its-summer…**

----

"Are we there yet?"

"No."

"How 'bout now?"

"NO."

"Now?"

"If you talk to me again Bryan I swear I'll use your skin for my next sacrifice to Boris and save myself from another toilet-scrubbing job."

"...Oh. So are we there yet?"

Tala barber slapped Bryan across the face.

Unfortunately, Bryan appeared to have _liked_ it.

The driver seated infront of them smirked, and seemed to enjoy their awkward conversations. Well as much as he could when three people and an extra set of luggage are crammed inside a small, bad-hygenic cab.

"So... youse boys ees guuing to zee International Airport, yes?" The driver asked in his Macy Gray voice, his breath possessing all the qualities of a German who hadn't washed in a month. Tala wrinkled his nose before answering, surprising his implicit desire to stuff white tube socks in the guy's mouth.

"Yes."

"I see...youse boys ees some schort oof models, yes? Might I awsk youse, what type oof hair gell do youse use?"

Tala cleared his throat and tried not to sound offended. Even from the back, he could clearly see the cab driver's small brown eyes trained on him from the rearview mirror.

Scary.

"No. We are not models. And I don't use hair gell. I use Marc Anthony's crystalizing hair spray, for stylish, shiek, sexy hair."

"Hehh...yess. Youse got zee sexzy part right." The middle aged man winked at the once again terrified boy, making sure his gesture of perversion was percieved fervently. Bryan, half asleep, sneered and nudged at his teammate's motionless arm. With a quick "He's coming on to ya, Tala" the lavender haired blader jumped infront of his captain and grabbed the driver's wheel and turned sharply to the right, throwing the man out the car (More emphasis on how bad the condition of Russian vechicles are). Tala watched from the window as their ex-driver's body tumbled out onto the frozen road, accompanied by a few sluring giggles.

"Now what was _that_?" Tala demanded, pulling at his teammates ear from the back seat.

"I know we both wanted to kill him, but we have to surpress the urge! It's the same when you're with Tyson!" The other boy glanced at him sincerely. Then jumped into the driver's seat. Soon they were wizzing down the driveway in a cab without a door at 125 miles per hour. Ultimately being high didn't quite aid Bryan in getting a driver's lisence. And his latter was helpless to stop him.

"Look out for that fire hydrant -- no Bryan, don't hit it! What th-- where'd that cat come from? Oh great now this shi -- NO **DON'T** HIT THAT MAN! _Huh?_ - Wait --- it's **KAI**! OK OK YOU CAN HIT HIM - HIT HIM BRYAN! LOOK HE'S TRYING TO RUN AWAY! **HIT HIM, DAMMIT!** I COMMAND YOU TO --"

"-- The hell?"

"I SAID HIT HIM, YOU -- **AH CRAP!"**

**----**

**Five hours later...**

**...At the International Moscow Airport ... **

"It was sure nice of that angry cop to give us a ride to the big place, eh Tala-pal?" The pale youth grinned, nudging his twitching captain on the stomach as Hilter would have done to a Jew.

"Ow! What the hell was that for!" Tala spat, pushing the other boy away from him.

"To check if you were alive, whatnot."

"Fuck off."

"Make me!"

"I don't make dogs, I train them."

Bryan paused at that distraughtful remark before turning away from the other face that possessed all the characteristics of a person who could have won against both Kerry and Bush in a two-on-one debate.

".. Damn you, Tala."

"Stupid Russian."

"What are you talking about? _You're_ Russian too!"

"Yeah but one the dub I don't sound like it!"

Sudden shouting and pushing gave way to a series of unfortunate events. First it seemed only like an innocent loss of balance done by an old lady standing infront of the two bemused boys, but when the simple task of getting up on both feet again evolved into slapping and bitching, Tala knew something was wrong. The other passengers, who were once standing within the confines of the airport in an orderly fashion, started rioting for some unknown reason. Luggages were thrown from afar, one hitting on Bryan's head and knocking him out. The old woman who continued to hurt Tala's feelings with completely blatant insults such as "Are you related to Martha Stewart" and "Go back to Canada" bickered at him continously.

"Bryan! Where are you!" Regrettably, Tala's voice was dangerously quivering along the tone of helpless begging, leaving him to slap himself for sounding like he did. Dropping the luggage, he ran from the wailing old woman who most probably was a psycho housewife and made his way out of the turbulent affraying in Terminal "A". Unfortunately for him, he bumped head first with a man who's stomach could have passed as the storage for several watermellons and stumbled backwards.

"Hehe what do we have here? Shome sort of boyish figure...most likely a boy..."

The middle-aged man's beer-stained breath circulated around Tala's face before forcing him to run in the opposite direction.

---

**Later that Night…**

Tyson emerged from the open gates, dressed in a chic wolf fur coat lined with Spainard diamonds. He gracefully glided through the door wearing Victorian style loafers, designed by Yours Truly. Waving one of his clean, ringed hands that most certainly hadn't been used to dig around Boris' food box all day, he flung off the golden tiara he had been wearing upon his neatly trimmed hair that smelled of Summer Blossoms as a series of white doves flew up from behind his shimmering aura, their pure cashmere feathers only a --

O...kay. That **so** didn't happen.

What** did** happen was that Tyson had finally slumped off the sofa after regaining his 'fatass' title once more. Vowing revenge on Max for throwing him out through the window without a 'Sorry' or 'Someone held a gun to my head', he grudgedly made his way to the kitchen. As there was no one there to stop him, he opened Balkov's refrigiator and took out the can of American beer. Clicking it open, he was just about to take a sip when a distint _'booming'_ noise aroused his attention.

"What was that?" He asked to no one in particular, with the exception of his imaginary girlfriend. The Bladebreaker glided towards the doorway on freshly stained socks as he griped the can forcefully in his right hand. The sound grew more intense with each step he took. Finally, he got to the next room. Raising his left hand, he gingerly risked stumbling upon the site of someone making out, and threw open the door.

There, staring back at him, was ... **A PLATE OF CRISPY DONUTS!**

**"ARRRRRRRGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH - **Boris!" Tyson backed away in evident fear as he glared at the newly tanned guy wearing sunglasses and a Hawaiian shirt. The man smiled, causing his skin to snap back like a deformed Halloween mask. Wiping some dirt only visible to him from his orange capri pants, Boris picked up his llama-covered suitcase. Evidently he had finally defeated Micheal Jackson in the **"Most Freaky Cross-Dresser who is NOT Jesus"** category.

"Why my dear boy, I do say, that is a most insolent way to treat your caregiver, don't you assume?" Speaking in a freakishly British accent, Boris threw his suitcase towards a beddazzled Tyson, who caught it with surprise. As Tyson grudgedly carried it off to the coat racks, Boris opened the kitchen door, taking a bite of the crispy donuts.

"And where might my dear Kai-boy be?" The man asked. Tyson spat on the floor upon hearing that name.

"Feh. That show-offy bastard? He left here hours ago."

"Really? He left?"

"Yeah. He left after Ray told him that Russia doesn't get the O.C on cable."

"Hmm... I see. I think I'll go look for him."

"What? You can't do this to me!"

Boris sneered impassively. "To **YOU?** I don't even _know_ **YOU. **Why don't you go dress up as Jerry Springer and start performing the art of love making on your stuffed animal toys?"

"You shut up, no matter how true it is!" With that incentive, Tyson ran from the living room, taking the plate of crispy donuts with him. Boris smirked and revealed yet _another _plate of crispy donuts and prepared to go out into the world again and make his presence felt...

----

Tala awoke.

"Ow. What the f--"

Some sort of frozen meat storage room, bleak and bleary, greeted his half frozen eyelids. A large man-like animal sat beside him, gently _STROKING_ his hair. Tala jumped back with a start and scrambled as far away from this rather touchy-touchy creature as he could possibly be. The burly figure grunted a grunt of protest before scratching his hair.

"What da matter little boy? You're worth alot, you know." Tala winced at this uncanny remark, turning away from the mould of flesh that passed for human structure and prepared to find the exit. A thought suddenly hit him. This wasn't just any mould of flesh... this was a ... kid-napper!

His mother (Fine, Boris) once told him about these 'Kid-nappers'... they come out of their hobo second identities and hide in public airports during the day. They then catch an unsuspecting boy and forces sedative on them. After that they _STROKE_ their hair while they're sleeping and the next day they... SELL THEM! Or use them as fire kindling. Which ever one is more worth it.

"Whats wrong, little boy... are you **_afraid_**?"

* * *


	4. Chap III

**Title:** Tala's newfound burdens

**Rated:** PG-13

**Warning: Language, Freaky Incidents, Tap-dancing, Broadway Show tunes**

**Summary:** See Prologue

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Beyblade, The My Little Pony Corporation, or a Wizard of Oz DVD.

* * *

**Chapter III-**

**The Joys of Selling Tala**

* * *

Kai stared at the people in the Coffee House with immense hatred.

Sipping the warm-hopefully-not-urine liquid inside the plastic cup, he proceeded to find more people to stare hatefully at as the last batch of elderly people got scared and left. Turning the fifth page of the Russian Playboy magazine, Voltaire's grandson seemed completely oblivious to the 15 year old girl who had just taken a seat infront of him. The newcomer was waif, blonde, and nibbling on a piece of donut as she eyed the hateful boy silently. Fifteen minutes passed. Kai finally noticed the intruder and put down the XXX reading material, making sure he secured his 'bad-ass' scowl into place.

"What are you looking at, little girl?" He asked curtly, throwing his plastic cup on the floor in evident defiance to the _'No Littering'_ sign clearly posted on the window. Missing an episode of the O.C obviously made little improvement on his friendliness. The girl was startled but managed to redeem herself as she scowled also, revealing surprisingly coleslaw-free teeth.

"Tch. Not much."

Kai got mad.

And this time, _mad-mad_. Not the kind of mad that he usually gets in, but _REALLY_ mad. The kind of mad that everyone gets in everyday in the United States, the blatant obscenity that triggers apoplexy like eating another one of Ian's home-cooked Kenny burgers while watching the Martha Stewart baking show.

"Do you have any idea who you're talking to, dumb fuck?" Kai growled, using the mental image of Voltaire stealing his _My Little Pony_ collection as a backup to enrage himself. Two adults conversing from behind them looked up, astonished that a boy wearing a Ralph Lauren shirt would use the atrocious language usually intended for George Bush. The girl tightened, grew red and shrugged her shoulders casually. Usually, Kai would just ignore a rude comment and stuff a hydrogen bomb into a insulter's house two days later, but this girl was different from the others. She was not afraid of him. She did not have pimples on her face. And she didn't run away screaming bloody murder when he glared at her using his trademark.

Kai glared at the person staring back at him with applied immense hatred. Because he was so adamant in his belief that no girl would _EVER_ dare insult the superior likes of him, he made up a fast conclusion. The usual conclusion he makes to anything bad that happens to him, excluding the time he accidently hugged Tyson (he was high on sugar plums).

"Don't try to fool me, Tala. I know you're under that yellow wig." The boy stiffened a satisfied grin, and stood up. The girl looked bewildered and confused at the same time, just like Paul Martin when asked if he knew how to run the government. Kai started to laugh. A whole, hearty laugh that possessed all seven counts of malice.

"What the hell are you talking about you blue-haired freak?" The blonde demanded, gripping the half-eaten chocolate donut dangerously. Kai's laugh did not abate, even when he jumped up to the table and threw out his hands, even when he aimed for the girl's head, even when he let out a repulsive flatulent sound with deadly consequences. The girl gave a startled shriek, trying to jerk her head away. Grabbing the blonde hair, Kai started to pull with all his might, desperate to take off the 'wig'.

"Let go you _asshole!_ What t--"

"_Damn_... how much glue did you put on your head, woman!" Kai strained, feeling high and mighty for calling 'Tala' a woman as he used his feet to kick her head back. The girl still screamed and she too stood up and tried to aim for Kai's more sensitive parts but failed miserably. Unfortunately for her Kai knew her motive and stepped off the table, taking the mane of hair with him as he did so.

**Two seconds later...**

Newly acquainted with several red slap marks on his face, Kai sighed a sigh of pure satisfaction as he walked from the Coffee House, cleverly ducking the flying broom that the manager threw from behind him.

---

Emily,demoralized from her failed attempts to cook an edible dinner, walked down the crooked stairs and decided to explore the remainder of the Abbey, while also possessing hope that she could steal Oliver's food creations and pose it as her own. A noise from the basement caught her curiosity and she pushed open a small black door only to find another small black door inside.

Annoyed, she engaed PSM mode and kicked the two remaining doors down.

Looking around, she spotted someone in a small alcove from behind the two doors.

Could it be?

It was…

**Mr. Dickenson!** _insert dramatic Scooby Doo theme here_

"Hey, its the gay dude!" Emily smiled. Mr. Dickenson glared at her, hurt bewilderment spelled on his wrinkled red face.

"H-h... how did you _KNOW_!" He cried and tore from her presence, bawling.

Emily sighed, chatising herself for coming on too friendly. She proceeded to open another small black door but decided against it in fear of discovering other stalkers/homo/drunks. So she made her way into the small entwined staircase towards her right and was presented with a rather alarming picture.

**"No Robert! _Not_ you too!"**

There... in the corner of the small dark room... was Robert... playing with a ...

**My Little Pony. **

"**NOOOOOOOOOOO! DON'T LOOK! ARRRRRGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!**" The German screamed, using a pair of Magic Hair Accessories to conceal his face.

Um... No.

"You're watching Lord of the Rings?" Emily asked, staring at Robert, who was seated in a corner of the what looked like a theatre room. She took a seat beside him, astonished that a pink-bathrobe-wearing German would be engrossed in something other than a catalogue of pink German bathrobes.

"Yeah! This movie totally rocks! Look at that hunky long-haired blonde girl! Isn't she just adorable with her bow and arrow!" Robert squealed, relieving Emily of her speculation that he was gender-confused.

"Erm... sure."

"Shut up shut up! She's starting to talk!"

Emily decided not to rebuke him that the 'hunky long-haired blond girl' was actually a _male _elf played by a _male_ actor named Orlando Bloom and sat back to hog the popcorn, waiting to bask in the scene of hobbits jumping on a bed.

-------

The hobo was getting restless. The Oprah Winfrey show was still on. Tala was counting the cracks on the ceiling inside this maggot infested room while having regrets when he previously stated that there was nothing more horrible and _gay_ than being trapped in a ten inch closet withVoltaire and a high-on-KFC Bryan.

The television stereo boomed with the whiny complaints of desperate housewives.

_'So then what happened?'_

_'Well, Oprah, after I was on your show, I discovered something...'_

_'Go on...'_

_'...that there IS no perfect bedroom curtain colour. My heart belonged to purple all along!'_

_'Astonishing improvement...we'll be right back after these messages.'_

The hobo sniffled, blowing his nose with much force. Tala mentally rolled his eyes. Oh Boo-hoo. So some stay-at-home mom found something even more girly than last week's newspaper. Yeah, **_thats_** something worth crying about. How would _she _like it if _she_ was held hostage by a deodarant-deprived mould of flesh bickering on and on about how superior Oprah is opposed to all the presidents in the world combined? Or how about being reduced to reading the Sears Winter catalogue for entertainment? Or what ab--

"Alright little boy, _dance_."

The rough, slurring voice of the hobo brought Tala back from his critical yet so very true thoughts. _Dance? _Did he hear this guy correctly? The man grunted his overload stomach to make his point.

"Dance fer me!"

Tala shuddered.

"And not just any type of dancing, TAP-dancing!"

More shuddering.

".. To Britney Spears music!"

Shudder extravaganza.

So Tala was forced to be chained to a light post on the streets of eastern Moscow dancing tap like he never danced before, incorrectly to Britney Spears music. The hobo behind him drew a big 'FOR SALE' sign using a marker and cardboard and taped it onto Tala's front. Until the man drew up the price tag, that was when Tala really exploded.

"Alright, you **unpleasantsurlyshittylittlefuckeduppieceofworthlessshit! **That's **IT!** How the _hell_could I be worth _FIFTY CENTS_!" He screamed, wanting to kill the guy and then bring him back to life only to kill him once again.

"Why youse ungrateful ingrate! Youse should consider this a privilage to be 'ere! Now _dance,_ dammit, so someone can buy you!" The hobo exclaimed, threatening to put a Celin Dion CD in the setereo if he chose to do otherwise. Tala turned red and aimed to punch the guy in the nose, but the hobo, being vertically challenged and somewhat obese, ducked and turned 'Hit Me Baby One More Time' up four volumes. Anger-stricken and wishing Boris had chained him up and fed him to snakes, Tala proceeded to kick the stereo out of function if he had not been stopped by a masculine voice behind him.

"Egads! He is wearing zee tights!"

Tala turned around to come face-to-chest with a rather tall man, wearing a black snakeskin overcoat.

"What are you talking about? That was like two years ago! I've now switched to slightly baggy tights!" The red head retorted angrily. The snakeskin clad man did not draw his eyes back.

"Oh my poor, _poor _little boy... so young and already lost; I will buy him, my good man, and save this _poor _boy from zee tight-wearing horror!" The man proclaimed as if he were doing something righteous, handing a two ruble piece to the red-faced hobo. Tala groaned at his buyer's stupidity and was dragged away from the chains and retarded-ness.

A long black limo of some sort greeted his turquoise eyes as the man lead him inside, closing the door behind him. The interior of the car was even more palatial than the outside, with a built-in DVD player, snake bar (wonder what _those_ are for), and even feet-warmers. Tala finally managed to pull the price tag off of his clothes and rip it up. The man who sat behind him unexpectedly embraced the startled boy in a warm bear hug before kissing him on both cheeks.Tala was too disgusted to say something insulting.

"You know why I've really bought you, don't you, boy?" The man said, losing his slight French accent. Tala blinked subconsciously.

"You are a fine-looking specimen...if not _too_ girly by appearance…"

There was that foreboding shuddering feeling again.

"..._ perfect_... to **marry my daughter**."

-----

The inside of the fake Frenchman's house was shiny.

And big.

And full of mirrors.

Tala sighed.

Crimes go so undetected in the Russian Federation its almost pathetic. He looked at the robust hand gripping his white and orange shirt. Ow. He glared disapprovingly at his capturer. Didn't your mother ever teach you something called 'common politeness-to-the-under-aged-cyborg'?

"Anasthasia! I have someone for you!"

Oh whoopidi doo.

Oh shit.

Oh crap.

Oh crappyshit.

Tala tried one last time to jerk himself free. But stopped his futile efforts as he thought of the disastrous outcome. _Damn._ _Everyone_ has a copy of Celine Dion's greatest hits album these days...

A figure, most likely a girl, descended from the top of the stairs, much like the Disney movie suggested. The female, dressed in a Vera Wang wedding dress (_oh god...)_ and shimmering diamond-encrusted high heels, waved excitedly at her snakeskin-clad father. Her hair,pilled like a gravity-defying beehive on her head shone in contrast to the brightness of the living room as she gracefully tumbled/rolled down the marble stairs.

Owch.

As Tala watched, his future woman's hair literally fell _off_ of her head, and flew towards his feet. Ew. A wig. Ewies! And made entirely from animal products. Oh the evilness of human nature! The girl grinned brightly, and blushed as she stumbled towards the two coughing/hacking males, reaching and grabbing her hair before putting it delicately over a bandage-wrapped head that most probably was bald. The girl's father tugged a speechless-and-in-shock Tala towards him, until his moustached mouth was almost touching the boy's ear.

"You'll have to excuse that display of unpleasantness. Some fucked up bastard ripped off my poor innocent Smackom Bottoms' hair in a coffee shop just the other day. Zee jackass!"

Tala grimaced.

Not only at the mental image of a person's hair getting ripped straight from the root, but also at the'embarrassing-to-the-point-of-sinking-ones-head-into-head-chopper-5000' nickname a girls dad could possibly conjure up. Anasthasia then drew out her hand towards the unwilling redhead, as if expecting him to kiss it. When he made no suggestion of an oral contact, the girl got pissed and crossed her arms.

"Daddy, this boy is a snow cone. He can't even show some respect to me!" She stated, her sentences revealing her obvious lack of decent swear words. Anasthasia's father patted her chrome back reassuringly.

"Don't worry, Puffy Pie. I'll have him straightened up." Not letting go of Tala's arm, the man half lead, half dragged Tala into a small room by the bottom of the grand stairs, followed by the quick paces of his credulous daughter. Unlocking the palatial elaborated doors, a cubicle alarmingly similar to Boris' private chambers came into focus. The man pushed Tala into this notorious room, and told him to stay put. The girl smiled a satisfied yet pure evil smile as she threw some sort of yellowish paper at him. Father and daughter then left, locking the door with a reviled _click_.

Tala picked up the paper. As there were no windows to allow adequate oxygen circulation, he decided to cease his boredom by reading it. The paper was a list. In girly handwriting, where the I's were all dotted with hearts, the information presented to him was read out loud.

_Here are the names you are allowed to call me on our honeymoon:_

1. Smackom Bottoms

2. Britney Spears

3. Chocolate snowcone

_Any indication to the word 'Fatty' will be a cause for severe bitch slapping._

Disturbing. Even for a Russian.

Tala turned around and wished at that direct moment that he was gay and had made it out with Ian (yes, he was very desperate).

Depressed, Tala threw the paper back onto the ground and crawled under the laced covers of his mattress. This was the fifth time he felt this way ever since he met the likes of Voltaire. He was faintly surprised at how tired and careworn he was, and as if under command, closed his eyes firmly as he buried his head onto the Victoria Secret brand pillow.

o.O

Tala walked up to the gates of the abbey, entering it like a good little boy. He climbed up the ebony stairs and opened the door to Voltaire's office. The huge black armchair was faced towards the window, and Tala could see the man's vague reflection on the clear glass.

"State your business." The husky voice said under a mask of phlegmatic-ness. Tala raised his eyebrows casually.

"Namesh Bond. Jamesh Bond."

That information seemed to please Voltaire for he swung around like a child ona 25 cent automatic pony ride and grinned down at his pupil. Tala took a step forward, holding up his parcel and unwrapping it.

"May I present to you... homestyle coffee." Tala said, holding the box high above his head as an angelic chorus sang from the background.

Voltaire continued to smile, but his smile seemed to be empty this time. Swinging his legs idly, he started to turn around on his fun chair, the suspense growing with every second it took for him to actually get off his lazy ass and to_ walk _around the table.

"See here... there's a wee detail I forgot to tell you."

Tala gulped. Huh?

After a series of hacking coughs, he began again.

"...I'm lactose intolerant."

_Oh Shittyshitcrap._

**_"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"_**

_o.O_

Tala woke up screaming, immersed in cold sweat. First he was bemused at the darkness of the secluded room, but as the putrid memories came flooding back, he screamed again. After a reasonable amount of minutes of letting his anger/fear/anxiety/insanity out, Tala slumped back onto the bed.

Just a dream.

A terrible, terrible dream.

Glacing around, he realized for the second storyline-irrelevent time that the room didn't have any windows. He turned to his side in defeat and went back to sleep.

_O.o_

Suddenly Bryan burst in through the wall. Tala woke up, startled (well, duh). Grunting incorrectly, the lavender-haired boy started to pull Tala from the bed after brushing off some gravel that had fallen on his bright lime ghetto suit.

"Yo, wake up, yo." Bryan said, slapping Tala's perplexed face.

"B..Bryan? Wh---stop slapping me, damnit! Where'd you learn that ridiculous American slang?" The cyborg hissed, staring angrily at his closest-ever-to-a-friend's half shadowed face.

"Yo, ne matter, yo. Get yer ass up and we go fer a ride, ma dawg." He continued to drag a sleep bound Tala to the discerned hole when Tala started to resist.

"Bryan? This is so not like you... you hate everything American! Where'd you...!" Tala began but was caught off as the other boy put a hand over his mouth.

"Keep a secret, bud? I ain't no Bryan. I'm..." Bryan whispered in a thin voice. To Tala's horror, Bryan ripped his mask off and revealed another face. The face of the grinning lion from the Wizard of Oz. The lion-dude-guy started to do the moonwalk, and then began to show off his excruciating vocal cords:

"Oh we're off to see the Wizard, The Wonderful Wizard of Oz.  
You'll find he is a whiz of a Wiz! If ever a Wiz! there was.  
If ever oh ever a Wiz! there was The Wizard of Oz is one because..."

**_"NYYYYAAAAGHHHHHHHHHHHH!"_**

O.o

Tala woke up, screaming.

Yet _another_ nightmare. All in one night.Getting up and kneeling on the warm mattress,Tala was just about to pray for God to end his forlorn life when he saw something peer out at him from the edge of the bed. As if on cue, the dire lion-head thing began to sing.

"Follow the Yellow Brick Road. Follow the Yellow Brick Road.  
Follow, follow, follow, follow,  
Follow the Yellow Brick Road.  
Follow the Yellow Brick, Follow the Yellow Brick..."

_"ARGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! **WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE!**" _

Yes, indeed, Tala was going insane.

* * *


	5. Chap IV

**Title:** Tala's newfound burdens

**Rated:** R

**Warning: Language, Freaky Incidents, A very vivid description of Voltaire's private chambers, Contents from Kai's diary **

**Summary:** (See Prologue)

**A/N:** Hi, _Sasha. _

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Beyblade, or Peter Pan. If I did, Peter would be _very_ different.

* * *

**Chapter IV-**

**Drunken Tales and Desperate House-Prisoners**

* * *

Kai roamed the wintery streets (time passes quickly, ne), pining for the attention of several good prostitutes. Annoyed at the vacancy of the stale alleys, he settled down in a capacious alcove beside a Novosibirskian book store, drinking from a half-empty beer bottle. The satisfaction of depriving a bitch of her hair a day could not quench his thirst for hormone-inflicted needs. During that time he had seeked shelter in various hotels pretending to be the Grand Duke of New York. Tee he hee. How gullible Russians are.

The sky soon grew inclement as an abundance of frozen rain descended upon the bleary scene.

"Bah, humbagh.. ." Kai exclaimed rather loudly, weightless white clouds escaping from his grim _O_ of a mouth. The lightpost beside the cohesion of the other stores started flickering in apprehension, and gradually dimmed due to the lack of minus-thirty-degrees-weather insulation. So Kai was left sitting under a dingy front step, wearing nothing but his usual supposed-cool-guy attire and a heavy wool coat of some kind.

"Bah, humbagh.. ."

And because the author does not wish to indicate any further reference to the copyrighted Hans Christian Anderson novels, the image of Kai shouting out a number of future 'Bah, humbags' has been sophisticated-ly replaced by happy spotted bunnies dancing amongst a background of white lilian flowers. Dance, bunnies, dance! Shake what your mama gave you! Yes, yes. Quite sophisticated, yesh.

Ah-hem.

Terribly bored, the sadistic-Russian-beyblader-turned-pro-American-malicious-hair-ripper casually glanced around the street, hoping to find anything of interest. Averting the eyes of a stray half-frozen cat sitting on a windowsill, Kai smirked an impeccable smirk of interest when he saw a group of small boys huddled beside torn cardboard boxes right beside the bookstore.

_'How come I didn't see them before? Argh-ness. Knew I shouldn't have watched all those playboy movies! Eraghh.Feh. And it wasn't even good. The girls were obviously faking...'_

Drawing hither to the boys, Kai noticed with growing interest that the children were cadaverous in build, a common trait of the poverty-stricken Soviet Union. Each were wearing dull gray slacks and ripped shirts, each crying out for serious fashion help. Short and emaciated, they sat crowded around a small fire, eating some rubber-like pinkfood. Kai sighed unceremoniously and proceeded to get their attention. He was drunk, after all.

"Heyhey... what's a pretty boyzz like you doin' in a place like this?" Kai asked giddily, saying the perverted statement well after hearing it from Voltaire for so many nights before. The boys, four in number, trained curious eyes on the newcomer. Kai sneered as he saw their puppy dog-like expressions. Taking a seat right in front of the pitiful fire, the ex-Bladebreaker started to laugh insanely. For quite some time, actually.

"Um, mister, sir..." One of the frightened boys asked gingerly, raising a pale finger as if asking for permission to speak. Kai chortled and managed to attenuate his laughter. Wrapping a heavy arm around the two boys closest to him, Kai started grinning even more broadly.

"Shazupppzz... lemme tell ya a little story.." He began, slurring his words due to the orgy drunken-ness. The dark eyes of the boy on his right side gleamed with newfound enthusiasm.

"Ooooooooo... tell us 'bout Peter Pan, mister!" The blond boy exclaimed, tugging on Kai's black t-shirt with brittle fingers. Kai laughed in an insane way for the second time, causing the little boy to be very scared. Finally, with tears brimming his eyes, Kai began again, this time managing to sound serious, as serious as anyone can be after engorging eight cups of the pre-Russian version of Smirnoff Ice.

"Okey dokey, ma pokey..." Kai snorted, gripping the two hapless boys more forcefully. "Sure thang miss thang. I'll tell ya 'bout our lil' Pervert Pan. Ya see, Peter Pan really does get around. Just the other day I saw him in the kitchen. Little tinkerbell.. the slut.. tried to rape him! But, since we all know Peter Pan is gay.. .he was a bit scared. He dropped his poor little green hat into the toaster. I wanted to get it out.. really I did.. but Tyson came in looking damn sexy."

The boys exchanged confused glances. "What about Hook and the lost boys?"

"Well, then. Hook never wanted to kill Peter.. no not at all. He just wanted to make him his love slave. But when Hook did get a hold of Peter.. well.. he kind of hurt himself in a not so nice place with his own hook. Gee... zippers and hooks do not go well together don't ya know!"

"As for the lost boys,"Kai snorted loudly. "Peter pervert Pan gave them quite show. And not one they needed, mind you." He laughed again and slapped his knee. Suddenly, Kai began to laugh. Laugh really hard. In this moment of insanity he hit the window behind him, causing snow to spray all over his back.

Another Hallmark moment brought to you by Yours Truly.

o.O

O.o

Tyson stealthy crept into Voltaire's secret chamber, followed closely by the torch-wielding American Idol reject (Robert) and fellow devoted interpretive dancer (Max).

At first glance, the villainous Russian's chamber could have passed for Saddam Hussian's toilet had it not been so impeccably decorated with pink, uncharacteristic doilies and sprinkled with what looked like a substitute for fairy dust. There were no windows, and all other forms of outside communication had been cut off by the large quantities of strangely adorable novelty toys. Even the door had been nailed shut, a clear sign of paranoia and senility (this is where Tyson and a can of beans comes in handy). Several tubs of melted ice cream had been tossed in a webbed corner, collecting dust. The bed was in the far corner, not placed horizontally, but rather in a vertical, up-right vampire fashion. Anne Rice would have been in heaven.

As the three ventured into the gothic shelter, the displeasing scent of sour alcohol and various French perfumes caused stifled gagging noises to fill the polluted air. The floor was tainted in a strange sticky goo, producing unnecessary sound effects with each step they took.

"Bleh. It smells really bad in here…" The leader of the would-be assassination proclaimed, tiptoeing closer to the shadowed sleeping lump.

"Why _thank_ _you_, Captain Obvious." Robert hissed under his breath, his non-torch-carrying left hand perched haughtily on his hips in copyrighted Marilyn Monroe fashion.

"Shut up, both of you. If it weren't for the breadcrumb trail left by Voltaire's previous victim, we wouldn't have found the entrance." Max retorted, and clawed through some more hideous doilies. "You _do _know that there's a line up to kill him. Just be happy that we beat the others."

In front of them, the slumbering man stirred faintly. Ignoring the sheepish words that erupted from the drool covered mouth, the intruders prepared to attack.

Unfortunately, like all assassinations go, there will always be an unforeseen, unplanned event that will result in serious emotional consequences.

"_**MR.WINKY BINKY?"**_

Max shrieked, pointing an inculpative finger at something ominously located in a spider-webbed corner. In the dispelling darkness, one could clearly make out the dismembered body of a stuffed bunny rabbit, its broken button eyes staring up accusingly.

_First the strawberry jam and now this…_

"_**I CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE,"**_ The American screeched, nearing the chasm of moral insanity. Leaping off the ground with the might of an aroused politician, Max grabbed the still-sleeping (the man turned half-deaf after the Nirvana incident) Voltaire's neck and proceeded to strangle him. His companions watched with their mouth agape in awe and admiration as the infuriated boy continued to slash away at the guy's surgically preserved torso.

"_Aaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh,"_ sighed Voltaire happily. No one had ever hugged him before. And to show his appreciation, he started to softly nibble on his "embracer's" arm, having somewhat confused the sweat-stained adolescent with the lead actress from Gilmore Girls.

"_EERAAGGHHH,_" The blond victim of odious old man saliva groaned, trying to leap away but decided against it and tightened his grip on the neck in fervent devotion to his childhood snuggle toy. "HE'S _EATING _ME! Do something!"

After hearing Max's plea and verifying its sincerity, Tyson and Robert sprang into much anticipated action.

And thus, the dramatic adventures of Lard Butt Boy and Bad Fashion Sense Man ensues! While Voltaire was still engulfed by delirium, Robert climbed up from behind his coffin/bed and attempted to blind him with the discontenting sight of improperly worn polka-dotted German tights. But sadly, as his sugar pink stilettos were still in the Woman's Shoes Repair Shop, the blindness was only a temporary one. Next came Tyson, attempting a somersault for added dramatics before proceeding to park his most distinguishable asset onto Voltaire's unprotected face.

Someone's going to sleep well tonight.

------

New Years Resolutions:

_1. Be more understanding_

_2.Get on the cover of Vogue Magazine _

_3. Make sure Bush doesn't get elected_

Boris frowned and crossed off the last two goals. Hmn, better make that three.

Crunching up the yellowed scrap of paper and littering it in a nearby bush, he continued up the sidewalk.

People were staring at him again.

Inarguably irritated, the Biovolt scientist tried to compose himself in the most Boris-mature way possible (Which includes a chin held up in defiance, the struting of the rear, and several 'Hmmph's to top it off). But there comes a time in every man's life when such efforts to maintain one's nonchalance falls victim to rude little children with pointing fingers.

"What the _hell_ are you _staring at_!" Boris screeched, projectiling a breath of non-digested fish sticks in the direction of a five-year-old boy who had been looking at him with curious eyes.

"WaahHHHHHHGGGGhhh! You meanie!" The boy bawled, lips quivering in accompliment to the tears spilling from his face. The boy's mother looked at the unpleasant man with daring eyes, before landing her hand onto his face in a forceful bitch slap.

"You should learn to watch your tongue!" The woman spat through gritted teeth before leading her emotionally weak son away. Boris spattered and stammered in rage. He grunted unhappily. He pulled his on his hair. He scratched himself in inappropriate places. How_ dare_ that impudent woman touch his smooth, well complexed face! And just after he had shaved! An absolute insult to his mandom!

"_I'm gonna kill your ass_..." Boris hissed under his breath. The woman's retreating back froze as she turned around in an intimidating fashion.

"What did you just say to me?"

"Um, I said I'm glad you have a killer ass." Responded Boris casually, giving off the impression that he was a heterosexual, which is most definately _not_ true (Quote: "_I like little boys who dance disco!"_ Tala better watch out .o') He then proceeded to make puppy dog panting noises to further emphasize his fabricated explanation, crossing the borderline of faking masculine passion. The woman seemed satisfied by his answer, and walked away proudly, holding the hand of a son that had just been visually scarred for life.

From behind them, Boris wallowed in his triumph. _'You still got it, old man! Still adept in the departments of lying, performing evil deeds, and dancing disturbingly!' _

Without further encouragement, he let his head slant backwards to let out a tastefully malevolent '_Mawhahahahahahahaha'_.

-----

Meanwhile, Tyson and Co. dragged the unconscious Voltaire into the bathroom, locked the door, and turned on Creative Mode.

Armed with the imagination of a three-year-old on crack, they were more than prepared to inflict unspeakable injuries on their slumbering victim. But it wasn't until the arrival of a particular Chinese entity when they were all thrown into a turbulent panic. Afraid of getting caught with a half naked middle aged man who had been the result of Max's lesser known beautifying skills, Robert and Tyson hastily emerged out of the bathroom, shut the door, and waited to confront Ray's infinite curiosity.

"Hey. Can I use the bathroom?" The clueless Asian asked, making his way towards the door. The expression on the two gaurding the door told him otherwise.

"Oh. Is someone in there?" Ray asked, peering over Robert's shoulder.

"Um.. . Yes." Tyson stated unprofessionally, arousing suspicion.

"What's going on?"

"Nothing. Max's just using the toilet. He'll be out soon." Robert chirped, starting to vaguely push Ray away from the scene. The intruder was just about to leave until a loud moan erupted from within the bathroom.

"Is he okay in there?" The feline inquired, trying to free himself from the German's grip.

"H-he's just got diarrhea. It's really awful - he's been in there for _ages." _Tyson improvised wildly.

Ray edged towards the door, ignoring Robert's desperate efforts to 'protect him from the smell'. "Max, can I get you anything? Some ice water?"

From the bathroom came a yell and an accompanying crash of china. "OH NO YOU DON'T! Aaargh! Oh yeeeruch! _Stop_ it!" Evidently Voltaire had recovered from the Tyson episode.

"What is he saying?" Ray pressed his ear to the door. "Who is he talking to? Stop what? What is he doing in there?"

"It's...urm...very violent." Tyson grabbed the confused boy's arm. "The diarrhea, I mean. Don't worry, I think he's nearly over the worst of if."

"Not on my_ trousers_!" Wailed Max. "Be still, dammit! Don't make me use force! And don't _hiss_!"

"Hiss?" Said Ray. "What... .?"

"It's the gas," Explained Tyson, steering the still oblivious Ray towards the alcove and down the hallway. "He's awfully flatulent, poor Max. And he's probably hallucinating...could you find him some more toilet paper? I'll go try to get him in bed."

As soon as his ex-teammate had vanished, the two conspirators opened the bathroom door and was greeted by a most displeasing scenery.

"I think you're going to need more than that.. ." Max stated quietly, wiping off some of the saliva/foam/vomit which Kai's grandfather had so generously tainted him with.

-----

Mariah and Emily were frolicking in the laundry (the only fun thing to do at Balkov Abbey) when a small blue book in Kai's room/dungeon caught their eye.

"What's that?" The American female asked, walking towards the door. Picking the notebook up from beneath several unmentionable materials, she started to open it when Mariah came running towards her in a seemingly idiotic fashion.

"You shouldn't do that. It's probably been boobey-trapped!"

"You're right. They're Russian, after all. Very suspicious of their visitors.. .. but let's open it anyways for the sake of boredom."

So they sat down on the cheaply varnished ground and started to remove it's cover, oblivious to the atrocities about to grace their eyes.

----

_Sum it up in one word: Hell. _

_The one television program that has just the right amount of drama and flair… GONE. In Russia? That is beyond my level of comprehension._

_So much to bitch about… lord, where do I begin?_

_Tala. Like always. _

_HIS CHEEKS. Enough said. Goddammit, grow a mustache! _

_Does he want to look like a five year old until he die? His baby-face is an insult to the manly-hood of the Abbey! Damn Tala and his girlish figure. I hate how this makes me sound. No, I'm not jealous. NO. NOT ME. That's right, Kai, denial. Denial is the KEY to any successful life. Right. _

_But his CHEEKS—_

_So pudgy. _

_So pinchable._

_So pixie. Oh crap. Did I just think that! _

_Arghhh._

_Wish I had the courage to pinch them. But he'll probably just run away. Like everyone else when I try to secretly pinch their baby-like cheeks. God, I'm lonely. _

_Whatever. Moving on…_

_---_

Emily and Mariah exchanged horrified glances before bursting into synchronized laughter.

"This .. . is.. ._ GOLD_!" The red head exclaimed behind a face streaked with tears. Behind her, Mariah seemed to have gone intimate with the floor as she rolled around chortling.

"We have stumbled upon something incredibly dangerous. We must protect it with our lives if we ever want to see daylight again. The information contained in this mere notebook is too nefarious for words. We must sacrifice it in a makeshift volcano on some desert island in the name of all that is private and humane."

"Or we can just read some more and see who wets their pants first."

"Fine with me."

And thus, the drama prolongs...

O.o


End file.
